Their holy sigil is a macaroni necklace you made in second grade. You didn’t know them in second grade. You’re not sure how they got that macaroni necklace. You ask them about it, and they just slip you a twenty and tell you to get whatever you want at the food court. “What is a food court?” you cry, but it doesn’t matter because they summoned a hero’s feast and everything tastes wonderful, and at some point you crawl into their lap to cry about something you thought you were adult enough to handle.

“This is you handling it,” they say. “You’re never too big to ask your mom for help.”

“You’re literally not my mother,” you sob.

“But metaphorically,” they say, and you’re like truuuuuuuuuu and sob a little more before they tuck you into a bedroll because you’ve got a big day tomorrow stopping an assassination at a royal palace

I kind of want to make this character now. Dwarven Cleric, but rather than drinking / making mead or beer she makes chicken soup all of the time.